"And perhaps," said Jack, "you would like to go down to the buckwheat-lot with me and try my gun. I hear you are a crack shot."
"I can't boast much of my marksmanship nowadays; I could fetch down a bird once. Thank you,—I'll go with pleasure."
"You are not going to get into trouble, Jack?" said Vinnie, with lively concern, seeing him tie the halter to his back.
"O no! Mr. Betterson is going to give me a lesson in shooting on the wing. I'll take the bridle, so that if Snowfoot should happen to jump the fence when he sees me, I shall be ready for him, you know. Now I wonder if we can take Lion along without his being seen. He is tired of sitting still."
"We can take him to the farther side of the cornfield, easily enough."
"That will answer. Come, Lion!" The dog bounded with joy. "Keep right by my heels now, old fellow, and mind every word I say. Don't be anxious about us, Vinnie. And, Rufe, if you could manage to engage the Peakslow boys in conversation, about the time we are shooting hens pretty near the fence, you might help the sport."
"I'll follow you along, and branch off toward the potato-patch, and ask Zeph what he meant by offering to fight me," said Rufe.
"I'm going to get up on the cow-shed, and see the battle," said Link. "On Linden when the sun was low, and the buckwheat-patch was all in blow,—I'm a poet, you know!"